


long way home

by ViciousInnocence



Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Implied/Referenced Incest, M/M, Mac and Luther have never met, Parent/Child Incest, until now...
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-06
Updated: 2017-05-06
Packaged: 2018-10-28 17:48:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10836258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ViciousInnocence/pseuds/ViciousInnocence
Summary: Mac’s gone out to get drunk and get laid. So far though – no luck.ihatesummaries.com (essentially it's just more MacLuther)





	long way home

**Author's Note:**

> This is quite tame and basic but I don't really care. I wrote this like 6 months ago, found it and decided; fuck it the world needs more MacLuther.

He ends up in a dodgy looking bar that smells like weed, dust and wine. There’s some old rock playing loudly through the speakers and it’s the sign above the bar that’s a real friendly “ _white’s only_ ” that makes Mac freeze up and look around at the people inside.

Two rough looking women either side of an equally terrifying man with a scarred face are looking at him from a tatty leather couch, when Mac catches their eye they lean forward and one whispers something to the other. All three of them crack up in laughter.

Clearly Mac doesn’t belong here and it’s unlikely he’s going to find a lay now either – but he’s way too embarrassed to back out now.

_One drink._

_In and out. Totally cool, totally normal. I just came in to check the place out._

_It’s fine._

Grasping hold of his courage he walks up to the bar, making sure to go far off to the left, away from another group of tall men at the bar to his right.

He gives his drink order to the bartender who makes no sign of acknowledgement, stalking off somewhere into a back room.

This whole place is giving Mac the creeps.

He takes another cautious glance around the bar. As he does, someone catches his eye. One of the men further down the bar is staring at him – his gaze is piercing.

Mac stares back.

A drink is slammed in front of him, making him jump.

“$4.50.”

Mac fumbles for change in embarassment as the bartender hunches over and places his bruised knuckles on the bar surface – waiting.

Unable to take the pressure, Mac hands over a ten dollar bill.

The man grunts, pocketing the cash, before beginning to walk away.

Forgetting himself, Mac feels a rush of anger,

“Hey? What about my change, bro?”

The bartender ignores him, instead Mac hears a small snort of amusement.

When he turns to see where it came from, the same man from before is looking him dead in the eye. Mac’s heart gives a loud thump in his chest as the old man gives him a once over, his eyes hungry, like he wants to eat Mac alive.

Mac shivers involuntarily as he turns away – grabbing his drink to mask anything else.

Whiskey. Straight. It burns and it tastes disgusting, likely because of the off-brand and the filthy glass. Before he can contemplate the rotten taste on his tongue further, there’s noise of a bar stool scraping and someone walking over. The cool sweat on Mac’s skin tells him it’s exactly who he thinks it is.

“You look lost.”

Mac puts his drink down and turns around to face a wide chest. He finds his heart rate shooting as he dares to look up into the eyes hovering above him.

He’d looked tall sat down, but now he was standing he was almost two heads taller. He could easily pick Mac up and throw him around if he wanted to.

The man raises an eyebrow at Mac, and raises a burning cigarette to his lips.

Mac’s eyes linger on the man’s hand. On his fingers.

Heat flushing through him, Mac remembers he has a voice.

“L-lost? I just stopped for a drink.”

Unable to hold his gaze, Mac's head bows automatically in embarrassment, the whiskey still hot in his throat.

He hears the man breathe out in amusement, the smell of cigarettes and strong cologne washes over him.

“…maybe I can help you,” his voice is so deep and he drawls, slowly, dragging on every vowel  - it makes him sound dark; predatory.

Mac’s swallowing again, instinct forcing him to look up into the others eyes. He tries not to notice the black tears tattooed on his skin. Tries not to notice how badly this terrifying man is turning him on.

“Let’s see. What’s…a pretty young thing doing this side of the city?”

As he speaks his gaze is drifting to Mac’s cheekbones and down to his lips.

“If I had to guess, I’d say you were looking for trouble.”

“Trouble?”

Mac’s throat is constricting, he feels uncontrollably hot and his mind is fogging,

“I can take care of myself.”

“So you’re not scared?” he asks simply, smoke rolling out from his nostrils.

“No way,” Mac breathes, voice trembling with excitement,

_“_ nothing scares _me.”_

“Hm.”

The man takes another long drag – Mac’s skin itches with the tension building between them.

The longer he stares, a bad feeling stirs inside him. Something dark is clawing at his ankles, something cold is running down his spine. He can't help feeling like something about this is deeply wrong.

“You should be, thinking you’re a smart-ass – one day, someone’s going to teach you a lesson about the big bad world.”

Mac holds his breath as he crowds in closer, eyes flicking down over a muscled forearm.

“Maybe I should be the one to do it.”

Part of Mac is telling him to run – run now and run fast – but a larger traitorous part of him has glued his feet to the spot – his whole body burning up.

“I got a place not far from here.”

“N-…”

Mac can’t find the words.

“I-“

“You’re not scared, are you?”

“…no.”

“You can stop pretending.”

The man stubs out the cigarette on the bar in a pile near some other ashes and filters. As he turns back again Mac sees a glimmer of metal above his belt – knife or a gun, either way Mac can’t stop the cold thrill that hits him.

“I know you came out here looking for something.”

He flicks a soft bang of Mac’s hair over his ear, with a surprising gentleness. His finger trails down to the soft expanse of his throat,

“Let me give you what you came for.”

**Author's Note:**

> If anyone ever wants to write MacLuther for me or for the good of this world; please do it. This ship will forever haunt me. 24/7. Night and day. Comments and kudos are lovely, and so are you x


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